by Misha Bell
When I run out of physical messes to fix, I look for some more code to work on—and settle on an easy bug from the integration queue list.
As soon as I start, I realize I miss having Alex at my side.
Seriously? Has our pair programming ruined my ability to code independently?
What a bloody disaster.
Before long, I find myself unable to concentrate on fixing the bug, so I type out a command to reverse any changes I just made.
Wait, did I type that in correctly?
Before I can check, my phone rings.
It’s Dr. Piper.
I grab my phone. “Hello!”
“Hi,” Dr. Piper says, and he doesn’t sound like his usual cheerful self. “I fear I have some bad news.”
Chapter Forty-Two
My heartbeat shoots up to one hundred and thirty-seven beats per minute. “Did something happen to Jacob?”
“Sorry, no. Not that kind of bad news.”
I exhale loudly. “Thank goodness. What did you mean then?”
He sighs. “Do you remember that consultant I mentioned?”
I almost ask, “The evil one?” but go with a simple “yes” instead.
With everything that’s been going on, I’d actually forgotten all about the Evil Consultant.
“Well, he emailed me,” Dr. Piper says. “He told me what kind of products Morpheus Group is about to launch.”
What?
Oh, no.
No. No. No.
How did the Evil Consultant even find out about the porn? And why bloody tell them?
This doesn’t fall into a consultant’s purview.
Dr. Piper sighs again. “I was hoping you’d say it was a bunch of lies.”
I shake my head, then realize he can’t see me. “I can’t deny it,” I say reluctantly.
A louder sigh. “I’m sorry, dear, but this is a problem then. I mean, not for me personally, but for the rest of my team. They’ll want to cut ties when I tell them tomorrow—and I have to tell them. I’m sorry.”
I stupidly shake my head at the phone yet again.
“I’m going to give the folks at 1000 Devils a heads up,” he says. “Again, sorry about this, but my hands are tied.”
“I understand,” I manage to squeeze out and hang up.
Tears prickle at the backs of my eyes, and the walls of the office feel like they’re pressing in on me.
This is bad. So, so bad. What am I going to do? How do I fix this enormous mess? How do I—
There’s the sound of the elevator doors sliding open, followed by enthusiastic barking.
I stagger out of the room toward the commotion, nearly tripping over the dog toys twice.
Beelzebub must’ve taken a break from the treat to make a mess again—creating a metaphor for my bloody life.
“Bad dog,” Alex is saying sternly when I reach them.
Beelzebub’s ears are drooping.
I follow Alex’s gaze.
Of course. My fuck-me pumps have been ripped into tiny shreds—just like my dreams.
“I’m so sorry,” Alex says, looking over at me. “You can wear my sister’s slippers when you go home. And I’ll get you new shoes.”
My hands ball at my sides. “I don’t bloody care about the bloody shoes.”
He winces. “You’ve spoken to Dr. Piper, haven’t you?”
So Alex is the “folks at 1000 Devils” that Dr. Piper said he’d get in touch with.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“It’s a fucked-up situation,” Alex says, scrubbing his hand over his face.
I feel the urge to get out of here before I scream or do something else to make him think I’m insane—or scare the poor puppy.
I head toward the door, but Alex blocks my way.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.” I try to squeeze past him, but he’s like a concrete wall.
“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he says as I take a step back, and I could swear there’s a look of disappointment on his face.
He dares to be upset with me?
I narrow my eyes at him. “What is it? Did you also lose your contract with the hospital over the stuff you claim isn’t porn?”
He sighs. “Morpheus Group is a different company from 1000 Devils. We talked about this.”
Yeah. I remember. It was when he said what just happened wouldn’t happen.
My anger is intensifying by the second.
I get that life can be unfair, but this is ridiculous. He sleeps with me, but only my reputation is in tatters. We both get caught working on porn, but only my project is sacked.
He frowns. “I saw the emails from the people writing code today.”
My jaw drops. “You want to talk shop in the middle of all this? Is suit integration the only thing you care about?”
His face is stormy now, reminding me of the day he caught me breaking and entering into his office. “I told you it’s important to Bella, remember? You said you wouldn’t sabotage it again. Remember that part?”
I back away at the anger in his voice. “What are you talking about?”
He advances on me. “Look, I get this was a stressful day for you, but that doesn’t mean you can—”
“Stressful?” My emotions boil out of control, all the pent-up stress and frustration releasing at the same time. I know I’m shouting, but I don’t care. “Stressful doesn’t cut it. This is the worst day of my life!”
“And I sympathize, but—”
“Are you going to get out of my bloody way?” I sound so hysterical at this point that Beelzebub whines—which is exactly what I wanted to avoid.
Jaw hardening, Alex moves out of the way. “Go, if you must.”
I rush into the elevator and stab my finger at every prime-numbered floor. As the elevator shoots down, I yell my lungs out between each of the stops.
Ignoring Alex’s limo, I grab a cab.
The ride home passes in a haze of tumultuous emotions, and once I get there, I put on Downton Abbey and cry until I pass out on the couch.
Chapter Forty-Three
I wake up with a stiff back and pounding head. Pushing up to a sitting position, I rub my gritty eyes, and as the world comes into focus, the events of Sunday morning rush back. My stomach knots, a vise squeezing my chest as I recall everything.
I lost the hospital contract I’ve worked so hard for.
My VR pet project is as good as dead.
And, to add the cream cheese on top of this cucumber shit sandwich, all my coworkers know I’ve been sleeping with the boss.
Speaking of which, why was Alex acting so weirdly last night?
I’m the one who should’ve been upset, not him.
Also, what was that bit about some email? Why was he talking about sabotage?
I jump to my feet and look for my phone, but to no avail.
Bugger. Now that I think about it, I might’ve left it on the table in Alex’s office.
I open my laptop to check the time.
Wow. It’s Monday morning. No wonder my back is stiff—I slept all night on a tiny couch.
Okay, back to the email mystery.
I remotely log into my work computer and look in my inbox for messages from Sunday.
Bloody hell. People are panicking because a year of work seems to be missing from the code repository.
Did I do that again?
I frantically pull up the window where I tried to undo my coding efforts from yesterday, and sure enough, I really messed up that command. I even felt like I might’ve and was going to double-check, but the call from Dr. Piper distracted me.
No wonder my coworkers are freaking out.
The good news is I know how to fix it, since I made this kind of mistake once before.
It takes me a few minutes, but everything is copacetic once I’m done.
Whew.
I reply to one of the panic emails and explain that the issue is now fixed. As I click “send,” I n
otice Alex’s name in the address field and recall his accusation.
Oh, fuck.
Now I understand why he looked disappointed.
He must’ve thought the bad news from Dr. Piper had driven me to mess up the code on purpose—and I didn’t deny it or explain what really happened.
I fire off an email asking him if we can talk, then rush to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
When I’m done with my morning routine, I check if Alex replied.
Nope.
I eat my oat porridge and check again.
Nada.
It’s official.
Alex hates me now. For all I know, he’s blocked my email address so I go right into spam—or maybe I’ve been fired, and my emails no longer reach anyone in the company.
I set my empty bowl into the sink with such force it shatters.
My heart hammers sickly, and the knot in my stomach grows until the oats threaten to come up.
I screwed up.
Alex and I might be over.
If I were rational, I’d be happy about this fact. Assuming I still have a job, us being over means we go back to the employer and employee relationship, which is the proper arrangement. The one that’s less messy. The one where people can’t talk about me shagging the boss behind my back.
I should be glad, but instead, my heart resembles that poor, shattered bowl.
My interactions with Alex play out in my mind’s view. The pair coding… us dancing at his dad’s birthday… the kiss… Sunday’s orgasms… All the time we’ve spent together has etched Alex into my heart, and knowing that I’ve lost him is making me realize that fact—or more like, admit it.
Desperate, I check my email once more.
There are thank-you messages from the developers confirming that the code is back, so I’m still in the company email system.
Nothing from Alex, though.
My chest squeezes even tighter, the tears threatening to flood my eyes again, but I beat them back and square my shoulders.
Fuck moping around and crying.
I refuse to let our relationship unravel.
I need to fix this—and if Alex wants to bloody ignore me, he’ll have to do it to my bloody face.
Throwing on my clothes, I grab Gia’s lockpicks on a hunch and hurry to the office.
It’s time my devil and I had some words.
In my rush to get to Alex’s office, I nearly knock over Alison.
“Hey,” she says. “I’m getting to the bottom of the source of the rumor. Just give me a few more hours.”
“Cheers,” I pant. “Email me what you know. I don’t have my phone today.”
She nods, and I resume my sprint—only to find Alex’s office locked when I get there.
I knock.
He doesn’t open.
Is he ignoring me?
Wait, no, that doesn’t make sense. This could be someone else knocking.
Unless he can see me through a security camera?
The idea infuriates me. Then again, I must’ve suspected this could happen on some level, since I did bring those lockpicks.
I look around.
No one is paying attention to me, but it’s still insane that I’m about to do this in broad daylight.
Well, if Alex is watching, he can stop me by opening the door.
I knock for the last time.
Silence.
I make short work of the lock with the lockpicks.
Heart in my throat, I push open the door.
Empty.
Where the bloody hell is he?
Then again, if he’s not at work, maybe he’s not ignoring my emails after all. Maybe he’s simply taken a day off.
Shutting the door, I rush to Bella’s office.
She’s not there either.
I hurry to my desk and check my email for any messages from either of the Chortsky siblings.
Nothing.
Since Alex is incommunicado, I write to Bella:
Wanted to chat. Don’t have my phone. Can we Skype? My username is PalindromicPrime1035301.
I wait for a few minutes, but Bella doesn’t reply or video conference me.
Fine. Since I know where Alex lives, I’ll just pay him a visit.
Running into Alex’s building, I smash into the chest of a security guard.
“Can I help you?” he growls, steadying me when I stumble back.
Bugger. He’s not the one I saw on Sunday, so I must look like a complete stranger to him.
“I’m here to visit Alex Chortsky,” I say breathlessly, stepping back. “On the 107th floor.”
The guard walks over to his desk and checks something in his computer as I reflect on how fortuitous it is that Alex lives on a prime-numbered floor.
If that’s not a sign that he belongs with me, I don’t know what is.
“Sorry,” the guard says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Mr. Chortsky left.”
Damn it. “When?”
He looks up from the screen. “It doesn’t say, but it must’ve been after I started my shift.”
Is this true, or is it an excuse Alex gave in case I showed up?
Then again, the guard didn’t even ask my name.
I could be Bella. No, he probably knows Bella.
I dart a glance at the elevator.
Would the guard tackle me if I just went for it?
Even if he did, I think I could make it.
I make a mad dash.
The guard isn’t chasing me. At least I can’t hear him doing so.
Panting, I reach my destination and frantically jab at the button.
Nothing seems to happen for a year.
“You need the card for the elevator to open,” the guard says from his seat in an exasperated tone. “I take it you don’t have one?”
Cursing under my breath, I turn to face him. “Can’t you press something on your end to let me in?”
“Sure I can. But I most definitely won’t.”
Why, that bloody… I stop that line of thinking, as you catch more annoying flies with honey. Returning to the front desk, I make puppy eyes at the guy. “Please. Alex said I can visit even if he’s not there.”
“Can I see your ID?” The guard extends his hand.
When I give it to him, he types something into his computer and shakes his head. “You’re not on the guest list.”
“He didn’t get the chance to put me there,” I say.
The guard’s expression hardens. “Look, lady, you’re lucky I’m not calling the cops. And I’m only doing you that courtesy on the off chance you really do know Mr. Chortsky.”
“I swear I do.”
“Then have him put you on the list, or come back with him, or have him give you his card.”
I hate it when people use proper logic against me.
With a huff, I turn on my heel and step outside to get a cab.
There’s one more place Alex could be.
A place I’m not keen on visiting again, if I’m honest.
A place that reminds me of a circle of hell, which is fitting because it’s called 1000 Devils.
Then again, Alex is worth it.
I rattle out the address to the driver and mentally prepare for the trial to come.
A bloody Nerf gun assault.
Chapter Forty-Four
When the security guard in this building asks me whom I’ve come to see, I give Robert Jellyheim’s name instead of Alex’s.
They call Robert, and he tells them to let me in. A quick elevator ride later, I step onto the 1000 Devils’ floor and dive into the armory closet.
It’s time for the big guns, literally.
I search for the biggest weapon and end up choosing a shotgun-looking thing.
Feeling like a badass, I fish out my earbuds, jam them into my ears, and launch the Downton Abbey soundtrack on full blast.
Yeah. The bodies are about to hit the floor.
I sprint out, and as soon as my foes spot me, a
dart flies at my face.
I sidestep it.
Boom.
At least that’s the sound I assume my shotgun makes when I unload it, sending a cloud of darts flying at the forty-something red-headed bloke I recall from the last gunfight.
That’ll show him.
A new attacker jumps up from her desk.
I unleash another cloud of darts at her chest.
How do these people work here? The desks are still haphazard, gun ammo is caking the floor, and the worst part is that no one has fixed the “four chairs next to some desks” situation.
A lady I previously shot in the crotch and boob joins the fray, looking eager for revenge.
I squeeze the trigger of my shotgun.
Nothing happens.
Why?
Oh, right. I should’ve known. Shotguns aren’t exactly known for large ammo capacity.
The lady shoots.
I dodge her dart.
More attackers join in.
A swarm of darts is about to turn me into an orange porcupine.
I duck behind a familiar desk.
A throat clears above me once, twice.
Yep. I made this exact mistake the last time too.
I look up.
Indeed. I’m face to crotch with Buckley once again.
It’s the second bloody time I haven’t noticed him in the heat of the battle.
“Sorry about that.” As I take out the earbuds from my ears and stand up, I catch a glimpse of his monitor—he’s reading an email.
The “To” field looks familiar, but before I can fully process it, Buckley minimizes the window.
“Hello,” he says, then clears his throat three times.
Wait. That email. Was it—
A dart smashes into my temple, and another one hits me in the bum.
Huh. These don’t hurt as much as I feared. Or at all, really.
“That’s enough shooting, guys,” Robert calls from his desk nearby.
I turn to face him.
He’s no less messy than the last time I saw him.
“Thanks for letting me in,” I say, wiping the sweat from my brow. “I’m actually here for Alex.”
Robert frowns. “He isn’t here today.”
Did Alex tell him to say that?
No. They wouldn’t let me up here if that were so.
